No More Secrets, No More Lies
by Feste the Fool
Summary: The not-long-at-all-awaited sequel to The Secrets We Keep! The day after Merlin accidentally lets slip to Arthur about the whole magic thing, Arthur locks the two of them in his chambers to plot and scheme, unaware that the city around them is falling prey to rampant sorcery... As always, no slash.
1. The Ban

**If you haven't read Secrets yet, I recommend that you do. Not necessary, but it'll make a lot more sense that way.  
**

**Also, note. This is still a reconciliation fic. The "real" Merlin really did lie to the "real" Arthur, in most of the legends...for an average of thirteen to _twenty _years. And in my opinion, _that _secret was much more traumatizing than Merlin's was. At the end of it, Arthur forgave Merlin almost instantly. Merlin had had good reason to hide things, Merlin had never steered him wrong before, he still needed Merlin, and he kind of had a kingdom to rule and no time to hold a grudge. Therefore, this will probably be the only major time you see serious angst in connection to _this _Merlin's secrets and Arthur will be pretty accepting about it. That, and apparently the trick is to get him so worn down by treachery that one more doesn't really bother him at all...  
**

**Anyway. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

News may have traveled slowly in Camelot, but gossip traveled fast. Arthur and Merlin had been alone the night before when the conversation about magic had taken place, and Merlin hadn't told a single soul what Arthur was planning to do. It couldn't be stopped, however—A month after the boy who had visions arrived in Camelot, the king had secreted his most trusted councilor in his chambers and warned the guards outside to be ready to fetch Gaius if they were called.

Obviously something was happening. But what? Conspiracy theories and insane ideas flew through the castle as though traveling on hurricane winds. Was someone important going to be executed? Had the boy Galahad seen something? Were they working on taxes? Had some horrible news come from Westmorland or Munsalvaesche? Was the queen in danger? Was the queen with child? Was the king ill?

It was from the scullery the final and most popular theory arose. "He didn't execute or banish Galahad on sight," said some thoughtful scullery maid a couple hours after Merlin and Arthur had locked themselves in the king's chambers with a mountain of books and almost as much paper and ink. "And he's always so sudden to dismiss the idea of searching for sorcerers among King Leodegrance's people. Maybe he's going to lift the ban on magic?"

It was the most scandalous idea, so that was the one the people clung to. It spread like wildfire, first through the castle servants, then through the peasants in the lower town. The guards found out next, but they didn't get a chance to spread it around because they were suddenly too busy chasing sorcerers all through the city. Perhaps this was the reason why the king's most loyal subjects were the last to know…

But perhaps that's just destiny's business. Leveling. Surprising. Achieving.

Brightening.

* * *

For the first time in _years, _Merlin knocked and waited for a reply before coming into Arthur's chambers. He stared as he came in, not really believing he was in the right room. There was no way on _earth _the place had seen _that _many books at one time. There were three stacks by the door as tall as Merlin's waist, and Arthur's desk was covered in reams of blank parchment and bottles and bottles of ink.

Arthur looked up from the desk where he'd been sitting, still dressed in his nightshirt, which was now thoroughly ink stained. "Oh. Merlin," he said, standing. "I didn't know it was you. You _never _knock."

"Yeah, well," the warlock said, then trailed off. They both felt uncomfortable in each other's presence for the first time in years, too, and were having a hard time meeting each other's eyes. It felt like there was an ax between them, ready to fall and strike one or both of them down at any second.

They weren't far wrong. In fact, there were not one, but _two _metaphorical axes.

"Right," Arthur said suddenly shaking his head, trying to fight the awkward tension in the room. "…Um…help me get dressed?" He blinked again and stood up straighter, trying to sound more imperial. "Something casual, since we're going to be spending the day in here."

Merlin nodded and shuffled over to Arthur's wardrobe, almost unwilling to turn his back on his king. He found a light tunic Arthur hadn't worn since he was a prince and a pair of comfy cotton trousers. On an impulse he tossed them at the king, who caught them with a relieved smile and darted behind a screen to change. The ice cracked.

"Why the sudden interest in a personal library?" Merlin asked, brushing his fingers along the spines of the books.

Arthur's arms could just be seen as he pulled the nightshirt over his head. "They're dreadfully dull law books, mostly. Old ones, too, from before the Purge. I was looking for ideas."

"Uh huh. And did you sleep at _all _last night?" the warlock asked.

"Course I did. I just woke up early this morning, that's all." A few minutes later the king came out from behind the changing screen, looking much more relaxed. "I can't really lift the ban on magic and leave nothing in its place, can I? …Unless I can just ban dark magic."

Merlin smiled faintly. "Not really, no. There's not all that much dark magic out there, and a ban like that leaves too much for interpretation. Did you find anything?"

Arthur shook his head. "Father had surprisingly few laws governing the use of magic. I think he left that all up to Nimueh and the other Old Religion priests."

"Which would be why everything fell apart so easily as soon as Nimueh fell," Merlin said, cocking his head. "He left too much to her."

The king grunted. "So what we're going to be doing, basically, is drafting up a bunch of laws before I go see the council to get everything ratified. I want this done _today, _if we have to stay up until midnight and hold the council until dawn tomorrow. Got it?"

"Right. And…what about…" Merlin bit his lip. "…What about me?"

"…We'll get to that as it comes up," Arthur said, still avoiding the issue and Merlin's gaze. "Although…I do have one question."

"What's that?"

"You said you practiced magic to save me. How many times have you saved my life?"

Merlin thought a minute, then looked at Arthur and gave him a shadow of his old, goofy grin. "You can't count that high."

The king scoffed, making Merlin chuckle, and before long the two were laughing.

The axes between them lowered, but did not fall.

Not quite yet.

* * *

"Arthur's _WHAT?!_"

Squire Galahad winced and took a step back. "…Repealing the ban on magic," he repeated, a little more slowly this time. "He and Merlin have been locked in his room since daybreak, hashing it all out."

"So he's writing new decrees?" Leon said, starting to pace around the armory, trying not to have a full blown panic attack.

The boy hesitated, then nodded, because that was _most_ of it. "Arthur's trying to get an entire set of new laws pertaining to magic written before the end of the day," he said, smiling a little.

The nobleman stopped. "And how do we know this isn't just palace gossip?"

He received a scolding look in answer to his question. "_Le_on," he said, blushing, his tone partly self-conscious and partly a sort of _d'oh. _

Leon blinked and had to think about it a moment before he realized how _stupid _a question it had been. Galahad's control over his visions was growing. Very slowly, and without all that much noticeable progress, but growing. Of _course _he'd verified the rumor before passing it on as truth. "Right. Sorry. What else do you know?"

"Well," the boy said with a slight smile. "News has been traveling fast. Several townspeople who practiced witchcraft before the purge have already revealed themselves in the lower town. They're jumping the crossbow a bit, but only by a bit. The guards keep trying to arrest them, but they keep blasting the dungeon doors open…"

The older knight squeezed his eyes shut and resumed his pacing. "All right. Do we have any orders yet?"

"No…Sir Leon, are you feeling all right?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Your voice is doing that thing Percival said it does when you're nervous…and you're about to walk into—"

Leon, who had been continuing to pace with his eyes shut, walked straight into the armory wall and fell flat on his back.

"…That wall," Galahad finished with a sigh. He walked over and pulled his friend to his feet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The knight rubbed his temples as Galahad helped him onto the bench. "I…I think I…I think I'm okay with it. It's just…it's a big change, even if I sort of half knew it was coming."

"But you're good with the magic part?" The boy seemed almost scared to hear the answer. Leon often forgot the young squire had magic in his bloodlines. Hence the stupid questions.

He swallowed. "Well…you're not bad, and Percival's fine."

"Neither I nor Percival _actually _have magic," he said with a jumpy chuckle.

"Right…the druids aren't evil. They used magic to heal me once." Leon hesitated. "I just wish…I've seen so much _evil _done by magic and in the name of magic. I would feel _so much _better if I could see more good things come out of it."

Galahad nodded, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I'll see if I can arrange that," he said with a small smile.

"What?" Leon said, his gaze sharpening in alarm.

"Nothing. Just don't worry anymore."

* * *

The first few hours of lawmaking had gone very well, with only the occasional reference to Merlin's activities over the years. They weren't _exactly _going in order since Merlin's arrival to Camelot, and so far nothing had been mentioned that had _really _been cause to anger the king to the degree that he had suggested last night. Sure, there had been that one point when it sank in that Merlin had _knowingly _lied to him about the way he was born and he'd yelled and thrown a few things. And there had been the point Arthur realized Merlin had known about Morgana long before she'd actually turned evil, and there had been more yelling and throwing things. That had stopped pretty quickly when he realized there was no way on _earth _Merlin could have told anyone about Morgana and been believed.

But the weariness and numbness of having _one more betrayal _after everything that happened could only last so long, and as each tiny secret had been revealed, he'd grown more and more sullen. When the release of the dragon had finally sunk in, he'd snapped.

And here they were.

"I _TRUSTED _YOU!" Arthur bellowed at the top of his lungs, slinging another goblet toward the warlock flinching against the wall on the other side of the room. "I trusted you with _EVERYTHING _and you _LIED _to me!"

Merlin ducked, the cups soaring over his head and clanging against the stone behind him. "Ar_thur,_" he yelled back. "We've _done _this bit already! Twice!" He ducked again as a thick law book headed his way.

"We're _DOING IT AGAIN." _The king threw a pillow that hit Merlin full in the face. Then he began yelling some more accusations, mostly incomprehensible. Merlin used the pillow as a fluffy shield against the various projectiles, taking cautious steps toward his friend.

He was within three feet when he was suddenly tackled by a very angry king. Arthur pinned him to the floor and punched Merlin's abdomen three or four times, feeling a rib crack with the last one before Merlin rolled on top of him and starting punching _him_ in the jaw. He'd never thought Merlin could be much good in a scrap, but a fight-or-flight instinct that told him to _fight _mixed with a little righteous indignation and just enough magic to put them on equal footing, he was a formidable foe. Even against the self-proclaimed killing machine.

Merlin only managed to hit Arthur twice before the king used his own weight to flip him. In a headlock now, he kicked out at the blonde's ankles while the breath was slowly squeezed out of him. With a flash of gold, Arthur was thrown across the room and into the wall while the dark haired warlock charged, kneeing him in the groin and breaking his nose. His own nose was broken a moment later when, with him being a little distracted, Arthur threw off the spell and hit him back. The king knocked him to the floor with a well-placed blow to the back while he was doubled over, clutching his face. Merlin used his legs to knock Arthur off his feet and the two went to scuffling on the ground again.

They wrestled for several more minutes before the warlock realized Arthur's efforts were getting weaker…_and he was crying. _"Arthur?" he asked tentatively, settling back on his knees with one hand on his bleeding nose and one hand around his ribs. The king threw another weak punch, which Merlin caught with one hand. "_Arthur?_" he asked again.

The king drew several gasping breaths. "_Everyone lied,_" he whispered brokenly, his voice raw and harsh with grief and anger and pain. "_You _lied. You _lied. Everyone _lied. I thought you were _different. _I thought you were my _friend, _and you _lied." _

At last, Merlin said the words that dropped one of the axes hanging between them since the last night. "…I'm sorry." And, having said it once, he found he couldn't stop. "I'm sorry." He mumbled the words, scooting closer, helping Arthur to his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He pulled Arthur's head onto the crook in his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. "I'm _sorry._" Tears leaked out of his own eyes as Arthur sobbed and bled into his shirt.

"You _lied,_" Arthur gasped, his hands tightening on Merlin's arms.

"I'm _sorry," _the warlock whimpered, putting eight years of betrayal and guilt into the words.

They stayed there, kneeling on the floor, clinging to each other until Arthur had cried himself out. Then they separated with a flush of embarrassment and several grimaces of pain. The king scrubbed his tears away.

"The laws," Arthur said, then cleared his throat and started again, trying for all the world to sound as if nothing had happened. "The laws. Where did we leave off?"

Merlin shuddered and held his cracked rib. "We'd just finished…something." Then he smirked. "How about we start writing the regulations on healing and the medicinal arts? We need Gaius anyway, though I may be able to take care of a lot of…this." He gestured at their myriad of bloody bruises.

Arthur smirked back, then winced. "Right…I'll…I'll send for Gaius."

* * *

Merlin had to be ill. At least, that's what Gaius thought. Because no matter how many times he called for the young man, he wouldn't get out of bed. He didn't understand it. This was a normal time for Merlin and Gaius both to be rising. The last few weeks, Merlin had even been up before Gaius more often than not.

His second thought was that Merlin had not come in at all last night, which was concerning, because it usually meant he had spent the night before recovering from a semi-deadly, magic-related attack. A quick glance upstairs found that Merlin's bed had been slept in, but there was no Merlin currently in it.

Perhaps it was later than he thought and Merlin had already gone to work. Yes, that was it. He went on his rounds, missing all the gossip flying around the castle as most of his most recent patients were still either unconscious or delirious with fever. Then he went back to his own chambers for lunch, and to await the arrival of Sir Elyan, who had injured his leg a few days before and was due for a fresh bandage.

Something didn't sit right with him about Merlin's early disappearance. It hadn't bothered the physician while he was out and about, but returning to a still-empty chamber was a bit strange. He climbed the stairs into Merlin's room and found a _note _on the young warlock's pillow.

His chamber door opened and a guard looked inside. "Gaius?" he called.

"In here," Gaius answered, frowning at the note.

"You're wanted in the king's chambers."

"I'm coming." He walked down the stairs before reading the few lines there with increasing agitation.

_Gaius—_

_Accidentally told Arthur about my you-know-what last night. He said he wanted me to come in early so I can really tell him everything before tonight. He's fine with it!_

His old hands shookin excitement. He breezed out of the room, moving faster than he'd remembered moving in months, nearly running over Elyan on his way.

"Gaius!" Elyan cried out in amusement and alarm, hobbling after him.

"Sorry, Elyan. I'm in a bit of a hurry," Gaius called, not slowing down. "Arthur's repealing the ban on magic and I have to help!"

Elyan stared after him, blinking, then shrugged. "I'll just pop in and redress my leg myself, then, shall I?"

"If you would be so kind!" the physician's voice echoed distantly.

The dark-skinned knight chuckled, shrugged again, walked in, and began rummaging for a fresh bandage.

* * *

Camelot may have been his home, but being in Munsalvaesche made Percival feel _better. _Physically _better, _healthier. He smiled as he stared out of the window of what _used _to have been the council chambers of the Dark Tower—_White _Tower now. A town had sprung up around the building as well, a town the big knight was thinking of calling Belrepiere. It had a nice ring to it.

Behind him, Gwen was holding council with the various leaders of the town and other townships that had formed since the restoration of the land. Percival was in the council as well, though he was mostly just there to make final decisions. There still were hardly enough people in it to qualify it as an actual state visit, but since Munsalvaesche was an entire province all its own _and _the current semi-permanent location of most of Cameliard, the visit was necessary. Besides that, Percival needed to swing by every once in a while, just to remind the land he hadn't forgotten it.

He could feel the magic of the land. He could smell it, too, and it was different than before—less like rain and rot and more like a kind of orchard. Everything smelled fresh and sweet. It put the people in a fairly decent mood, which meant politics in Munsalvaesche was much less painful than politics in Camelot.

The still sky was shattered by the appearance of a shooting star. Percival frowned. _That _didn't make much sense. Shooting stars couldn't be seen during daylight hours. The prickly-soft feeling in the back of his mind that connected him to the land was buzzing, too, eager for the star's approach.

Because it _wasn't _a star, that little voice told him. What's more, it was headed straight for him.

It was smaller than it appeared from far away, not much bigger than his palm. It flew at him, throwing sparks, and perched on the windowsill outside with a loud _pop. _It slid itself into the room under the window latch, flashed once, and landed in front of him. It wasn't a star, but a very thick piece of dark gray parchment, folded over and sealed with wax, with his name on the front.

A small exclamation of fear came from behind him. He turned to see Gwen, Leodegrance and the other councilors staring at the paper in his hand as if it was going to attack. The fear was even more evident once they saw Percival's face and realized he hadn't reacted _at all. _

"…What…_is_…that?" Gwen asked, regaining her composure before anyone else.

Percival looked from her to the paper, waiting for Munsalvaesche to give him the answers. "Flash paper," he said. "It's a piece of parchment, slightly enchanted. The spell gets the message from the sender to the receiver with a great deal of speed and no chance of being intercepted. Not exactly subtle, but effective. The spell's temperamental, but once it's cast, anyone can use the paper. Hasn't been used much since before the Purge." He waited just long enough to make sure no one was going to pass out at the blatant sorcery before breaking the seal and opening the message. "It's from Galahad," he told them, then read the message once. Twice. Three times.

"What does it say?" Gwen asked.

Percival lifted his head, a sort of half-smile playing about his lips. "…Arthur's lifting the ban on magic."

* * *

Merlin was able to fix Arthur's nose and clear up most of his worse of his injuries—Arthur had tensed in terror and shivered in excitement at feeling the spell fall onto his damaged skin—but the idiot had never learned self-healing spells. He had to wait until Gaius charged in, exclaiming over the state of the rooms and the young men. Arthur sat at his desk and began composing the regulations on medicine. Merlin and Gaius did most of the work—well, Gaius did, throwing out regulations in between alternately spelling and bandaging Merlin's scrapes. Merlin only helped in between groans.

At last, bandaged and mostly healed, they wrapped up the healing laws and sent Gaius away—healing was all the magic he was really good for, anyway, and he was proud of it. Arthur looked at the new list, a little stunned. He'd never known that witchcraft and herbcraft were so close together.

Of course, he'd rather _not _known just how many dark things can be done with a medicine, either.

That was hours ago. Now they were working on something a bit more violent.

"Are you going to add an extra branch to the army?" Merlin asked. He was laying on the floor with his feet propped up on Arthur's bed, making pretty pictures over his head in candle smoke. "The fighting sorcerers of Camelot. The irony is sort of wonderful."

The king stopped his scribbling, leaning his head on his elbow. "Are you enjoying yourself, there, _Mer_lin? Quite comfortable?" he asked.

Merlin looked at him upside-down, as best he could from the floor. "Oh, yes, very. Well, are you going to add the extra branch?"

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes, and went back to writing in legalese. "No, I'm not."

The warlock snorted, and the smoke turned into a horse. "Well, that's _stupid._"

"I'm not making an extra branch, _Mer_lin, because I'm making it necessary to have a certain percentage of sorcerers to every troop. I don't want to segregation. This will be hard enough without that. Besides, as _you _have so aptly shown by example, if a sorcerer is allowed free reign, you only _need _a few in every troop." He looked up to shook his friend a dirty look and paused when he saw the horse in the smoke.

After the silence had gone on a bit too long, Merlin looked up again. "…What's wrong?"

"…It was you who conjured the smoke and brought the witchfinder to Camelot, wasn't it?"

Merlin winced. "First, I didn't _conjure _the smoke. It was already there. Second, I still feel bad about that one. I nearly lost Gaius."

The king nodded and continued writing, more subdued.

The warlock frowned and rolled over on his stomach. "…That's it?" he asked. "Just a nod and let's get back to work? No screaming, no betrayal, no breaking of poor Merlin's bones?"

A snort followed and Merlin had to dodge a plate sent flying his way. He chuckled and rolled back over.

"…What about spells in the heat of battle?" Arthur asked. "I'm concerned about our own soldiers being hit by mistake."

Merlin hummed. "It's not going to stop the regular knights from hitting each other by mistake, is it? I wouldn't restrict any spells in battle, Arthur. When you're fighting for your life, you don't really tend to play by the rules."

"…You would know, wouldn't you?"

"What was that?"

Arthur cleared his throat and spoke up. "I said you would know?"

"…I guess. I mean, I usually had to wait until everyone was unconscious. Er, I feel bad about that, too."

The king chuckled and finished a sentence. "…Merlin, what happened to Agravaine?"

"Dead," the warlock said shortly, ice in his voice.

Complete silence fell. Arthur put down his quill and peered over his desk. Merlin's eyes looked dead, too, and the smoke over his head was nothing but smoke. The king swallowed and ducked his head, trying to think of something, _anything _else to say. "Uh…you said you knew about Morgana before she, you know, came back," he said, stumbling over his tongue. "How long has she been working against us?"

The warlock's throat worked while he tried to swallow. "Since, uh…since right before the knights of Medir attacked Camelot."

The king's eyebrows went up. "She was gone to us for that long?"

He nodded. "…That's why she never went to sleep. It wasn't a potion. She went to Morgause and allowed herself to be used as the vessel for the spell."

"Then why did Morgause attack her?"

The smoke formed the shape of a dagger. "She didn't. I…I…I poisoned her. To break the spell. The…the vessel had to be destroyed. Morgause broke the spell when I blackmailed her with the poison I used."

Arthur sat back in his chair, deeply troubled. Not by Morgana's treachery—he'd gotten over that ages ago. But Merlin was clearly still affected by this. "You did what you had to do."

The young man shook his head. "I had _suspicions_ of her betrayal, Arthur, not proof. It was as good as murder." He fell morose and silent again, dismissing the smoke entirely.

The king sighed and scooted up again, but his mind wasn't in his work this time. His mind raced ahead, trying to think of something to say that would lift the darkening mood. The ax between them began to wiggle. "…So when you said I couldn't count high enough for the times you've saved my life…" he began, trying to sound teasing.

That elicited a chuckle. "Nah, I only said that because I've lost count myself."

"All those convenient little branch breaks and trip ups…"

"Yeah, that's just the day to day stuff." He muttered some word the king didn't understand and the curtains around Arthur's bed started dancing.

Arthur faked a laugh, happy the warlock was smiling even though he himself was beginning to feel more and more upset. "See? That's why I'm mixing the sorcerers in."

"It is a good idea." He chuckled again, the curtains going flat. "Make sure there's a decent healer among them, too…and maybe someone to ensure the food won't be poisoned again like that one time."

"What one time?"

"That time you were all being prats and hogging everything. You scared me to _death _when I came back from gathering firewood and found you all gasping for breath."

The bottom fell out of Arthur's stomach. He didn't remember any of that, not that it was surprising. "Hah, good point. Not much point in sending out patrols if they're all going to be killed on the way to wherever they're getting. …Last night, when you said you weren't a dragonlord when you released the dragon, but you were later, what did you mean?"

Silence. Then, in an even tone, "There's only one dragonlord in a family at a time. The son inherits the ability upon the death of the father."

The king fell back in his chair again, glad the only thing he could see of the warlock was his feet on the bed. "Balinor was your father."

"…Yes." He sounded…surprisingly all right for delivering that piece of news. "I was upset for a while, but I'm okay now. I mean…I still wish I could have known him better, but these things happen."

"They shouldn't," Arthur muttered.

"What?"

"I said, what was the deal with the old man disguise?"

Merlin groaned, pulling his feet out of sight. A moment later he reappeared completely, sitting on the corner of Arthur's bed, a pathetic look on his face. "What on _earth _does all this have to do with battle magic?"

"Just humor me, Merlin."

"You're not going to start punching me again, are you?"

"_Mer_lin…"

The warlock rolled his eyes. "Uther was going to have Gwen _executed_. I couldn't let that happen."

"So you let yourself get blamed instead. Merlin, you're _such _an idiot." An image popped into Arthur's mind of the last time he had seen "Dragoon the Great." He had said magic was pure evil, hadn't he? His stomach started rolling again. The ax swung perilously close.

Merlin laughed outright. "I may be an idiot, but it worked, didn't it? Gwen's still here."

"Yeah, she is. But she almost wasn't." And the time Merlin had tried to convince him, he'd threatened him with banishment.

"Yeah, but she _is._" He laughed again. "If I dealt with _almosts, _I'd have gone mad by now."

"Oh, I'm sure." There were other things Merlin had lost, Arthur was sure. Things he tolerated and suffered. There were other times when Arthur had said magic was evil, not to be trusted. Sweet Camelot, on the road to Westmorland he'd even said it left no room for loyalty.

But here Merlin was. Always. It was insane, that he was still here. He shouldn't have been. He should have been far away, a long time ago, in a place where he could be accepted, welcomed. He had stayed, and served, never far away and always ready when needed.

What was it he'd said Emrys meant? Forever? Something like that. It fit.

"What are we on now?" Merlin asked, his voice breaking into Arthur's thoughts. The warlock bounced on the bed. "Attack and defense, still?"

"Uh…" he glanced down at the parchment in front of him. "…yeah."

"Well, make sure you're really specific in your definitions. I don't trust interpretation as far as I could throw you…actually, I could throw you pretty far, so that's not exactly the best—"

"Merlin, have I…um…" Arthur began. "Have I…extended my gratitude to you yet?"

The warlock's spine stiffened. He looked at Arthur as if he'd been stabbed. "…W-what?"

"You heard me," he answered, shaking his head. "Honestly, _Mer_lin. It's like you never expected to be acknowledged after this ban was lifted."

"But…but I…I didn't…but…I mean, I don't deserve…I mean, I do, but…" Merlin stammered, his eyes growing large and rather moist.

Arthur's frown returned and he leaned forward. "Merlin?" he said. He got no response beyond another light stutter and a tiny headshake. "Merlin…you _did _expect me to…to give you my…my appreciation, didn't you?"

The warlock, pale and trembling, pressed his lips together. "…I did so many horrible things," he said, his voice scarcely audible. "I never thought…I mean…I never had any plans beyond just, you know…not being executed. I didn't think…I didn't…" The trembling grew worse, much worse, and the warlock started gasping.

Arthur scrambled out of his chair and rushed to Merlin, alarmed and feeling completely horrid. He stood, awkward and blushing, in front of his shaking friend for a moment. It was _Merlin _who as good at the physical act of comforting, but it was Merlin who needed it now and he didn't know what to do. In the end, he did the only thing that made sense to him—he kneeled before the warlock seated on his bed and bowed his head in reverence. "Merlin, _thank you._"

The dam burst behind Merlin's eyes as the last ax between them fell and splintered. While sob after violent sob shook his friend's thin frame, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and did not move. "Thank you," he said again as tears splashed onto Merlin's hands. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. _Thank you…_"

Did Merlin know that the "I'm sorry"s he'd said exactly matched the number of times he'd done something that would break the king's heart? Did Arthur know that he said enough "Thank you"s to cover every single time Merlin had saved his life and not one more or less? Did they know the number was the same?

No, and perhaps they never would. But that was destiny's business. Balancing. Effecting. Fulfilling.

Justifying.

* * *

When Gwaine found out, he was—where else?—in the tavern. His usual places at the bar or in the corner were taken, so he had a new spot facing the door. He was just polishing off his first tankard of mead when a strange thing happened.

A sorcerer ran by, being chased by a guard of Camelot. He knew it was a sorcerer because the man had stopped in the middle of his running, conjured a _chicken _out of thin air, and _thrown _it in the guard's face before moving on. The drunkard cursed in two languages and slammed his tankard down, standing up and reaching for his cloak.

"Well, you're leaving early," a barmaid said as she floated by his table to refill his cup.

He cursed again, throwing his cloak around his shoulders." Some _stupid _sorcerer with a death wish just ran by," he said. "I'm still in uniform, so I _have _to go help catch him."

The maid chuckled and shrugged. "You really might as well stay and have another drink. It's not likely to matter before long."

Gwaine had been struggling with the fastening on the cloak when she spoke. Now he paused and tilted his head toward her. "What do you mean?"

"You mean you haven't heard? The whole city's gone _mad _with magic. The king's been locked up in his room with his most trusted councilors all day, getting ready to lift the ban."

The same sorcerer ran by the door again, cackling as the guard puffed out him, waving a bouquet of long stem roses and shouting at his quarry to _bring my sword back, for the love of Camelot, man!_ Slowly, very slowly, Gwaine eased back into his chair while a smile spread across his face. "Is that _so_?"

She nodded. "Yep. Rumor has it the laws will be up within days. He's had the grand council on hold since lunch."

"Well," he said. "I'll drink to that. Another round!"

"…You don't mind?" she asked, cocking her head. "I mean, you a lord of Camelot and all—"

"My brother has been openly supportive of magic for years," Gwaine admitted. "If the _only _good thatcomes out of this is him being able to visit me without sneaking around, It would be worth it." He smirked. "To say nothing of the imminent legality of my mother's instant hangover remedy, which is the only good thing that every came from _her_. Fill 'er up!" He tapped his tankard on the table and flashed a dashing grin.

As she laughed and poured, the sorcerer went by again, walking at a leisurely pace and whistling. "Hey!" Gwaine yelled.

The man poked his head inside the tavern. "…Yeah?"

"You lose the guardl?"

"Yeah. What of it?" he asked, stiffening as he realized he was being addressed by a knight of Camelot.

"Nothing of it at all," Gwaine said. "Come on in. I'll buy you a drink!"

* * *

In Westmorland, flash paper messages weren't common, but weren't exactly rare either. What was rare was an early evening message shooting its way across the darkening sky, flying through an open window in the half-castle, and settling itself at Lord Garis' hand. The ex-prince jumped and dropped his book, losing his place. He sighed and glanced at the letter balancing precariously on the arm of his chair.

"Hmm…" he said as he picked it up. "Now what could you be?" He broke the seal and smiled as he recognized his favorite brother's handwriting on the four small words scrawled on the unsigned gray parchment.

_You told him so._

Grinning like an idiot, Garis stood and floated over to the open window, looking across his land. "People of Westmorland," he said, leaning against the cool stone wall. "…Soon. Soon you will be free."

* * *

Merlin and Arthur stood behind the desk, staring down at a thick, recently sealed document. Nearly thirteen hours they have slaved over those laws, amid the heartfelt reveals, physical fights, and embarrassing fits of tears. Merlin was somewhat used to the last one and didn't mind so much, but Arthur had cried more that day than he ever had in his life, and it still showed in his red eyes. Merlin, however had fought more than ever before, and had the bruises to prove it. The papers on the desk were the result—twenty-eight pages of revised law governing the use of magic and consequences of misuse, beginning with a royal decree lifting the death ban on sorcery.

"Well," Arthur asked, his eyes glinting with mischief as he nudged the warlock beside him. "What's left to do?"

Merlin sighed. "A long, drawn out, agonizing, sleepless night of dickering politics with your council, a formal announcement, the passing of the laws, the getting everyone used to the laws, telling you everything that I didn't get to today, telling all our friends about my magic, the completion of Albion—"

"_Mer_lin," he said, nudging him again. "I meant _this._" He pulled out another single sheet of paper and rested it on top of the stack. "I drew it up when you were fetching lunch. It changes the _country _name to Albion, the _city _name to Camelot, and instates the position of Court Magician."

"…You still want me?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"Of course not, you dolt. I want _Emrys._ I can't think of anyone who could possibly be more qualified for the job. _You're _just an idiot."

Merlin stuck his tongue out at his friend and got stuck in a headlock in response, Arthur's knuckles scraping gently against the top of his head. He was released when they both started laughing, and both looked back at the packet of law.

"Arthur…are you _sure _about this?" the warlock asked. "I mean," he went on as Arthur shot him a blank look. "Never mind that it sets me and all my kind free. Forget about that for a minute. Are you _sure _you want to go against _everything _your father ever taught you and open your kingdom to magic and the danger that comes with it? Because if you don't, I understand, and I'll still serve you."

The king looked at him in disbelief, then sighed and nodded. "As I said last night. This has been an _inevitability _since the very first time Morgana scorned us for Morgause. If we keep persecuting these people, we'll only continue to do _ridiculous _things like making enemies that ought to be friends and killing those with the power to stop the danger from happening in the first place. It isn't about you. It's about the future of Camelot...of Albion. No more secrets, Merlin."

The warlock nodded. "No more lies." He picked up the new decrees like they were made of glass and handed them to Arthur. When Arthur took them, he took Merlin's arm, too, clasping it as if the soon-to-be-ex-servant had been a knight or nobleman all his life. Merlin smiled and acknowledged the gesture with a swift nod. Their hands fell to their sides.

"Well," Merlin said, stretching and starting for the door. "Time to go fight with council rather than just you. And then I have to go see everyone else and tell _them_ I'm magic and apologize again."

A curious expression crossed Arthur's face, and he stopped Merlin with a hand to the shoulder before he could take much more than a few steps. "…You have nothing to be sorry for," he said, squeezing Merlin's shoulder.

His friends' lips rose into a smile. "That's good. Because there's nothing to thank."

They had a feeling that neither quite believed the other statement, but they left for the main council chambers without another word.

And for the first time, without the fear of being discovered or scolded, they walked together as equals.

Because that's destiny's business, equalizing. Perfecting. Aggregating. Vindicating.

Completing.


	2. The Magician

Merlin's prediction was correct—the two of them _would _be spending a long, sleepless night fighting with Arthur's council while they debated the practicality of releasing magic and argued the specifics of laws and punishment for the breaking of such. One of the oldest members, Lord Soleise, first insisted on keeping the ban as it stood, and when that was put down, suggested doing away with all of the carefully constructed consequences Arthur had proposed in favor of sentencing all magical lawbreakers to death.

Arthur snorted at that. "That's one of the most _absurd _things I've ever heard," he said, feeling a wicked satisfaction as the man's embarrassment spread over his face. Merlin was sitting beside the king, and the suggestion had made him go tense and breathless for a moment. The king was quite happy to humiliate any council member who made Merlin uncomfortable. "Kill all magical wrongdoers? For _everything?_ What, so someone attacks a sorcerer and the sorcerer retaliates and injures the man, then the sorcerer is condemned for defending himself? Or say the sorcerer steals a chicken. Do we execute non-magical chicken stealers?" He went so far as to laugh at the man's expense. "No, these laws are going to be _fair _and _just, _Lord Soleise. For all people."

The lord blustered a moment, then scanned the list. "…But you have harsher punishments for those who are in positions of leadership in the Old Religion?" he asked. "How can you say your laws are far for all when they are clearly respecters of persons?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, whose eyes grew a little wider, but took the hint and spoke without fear, leaning forward at the table. "The Old Religion still bears many signs of corruption," he began, trying to hide his smirk at the looks on their faces—they were _clearly _surprised and not all that happy at being addressed by the king's servant. "I don't expect you all to know the events of the few decades in the magical community, nor do I expect you to understand…yet. That will come later. In short, magic suffered a blow when Nimueh, the High Priestess of the Old Religion, began practicing dark magic. It has been recovering ever since, but until recently that recovery has been slow. In the past five years, two movements have broken out: one to revert the Old Religion all the way to the days of the Triple Goddess, and one to abolish the primal darkness and draw it back into light. It's a close battle, but so far, the light is winning."

He paused and took a deep breath. "The fact of the matter is that the old ways are dying, but the Old Religion is not…and there is every chance, if we are not careful, of the Religion slipping backwards again. The law is not discriminating against the person who holds the ranks of priest and priestess; it is protecting them. In order to ensure the Old Religion's rise to goodness again, these ranks must be held to a higher standard than the average magical citizen. Otherwise, there is no _true _consequence for their actions, and they are likely to go power hungry and dark once more. It's a delicate balance, and we _have _to be careful to maintain it."

Arthur's chest swelled with pride in his friend. Gone was the clumsy idiot; it was not _Merlin _addressing his council. Not really.

Lord Soleise didn't take it. Instead he glared daggers at the young man seated beside his king. "And exactly what does a _servant _know about magic, much less the last few decades of history related to it?"

Arthur saw red and started to speak, but Merlin beat him to it. "Oh, I'm not a servant anymore. With magic set free, so am I." He stood and bowed, first mockingly to the lord, then deeply to Arthur. "Merlin Emrys, King of the Druids, Last Dragonlord, Champion of Avalon, Defender of Albion, and Court Magician to Arthur Pendragon, at your service, as always."

The gaping shock on the other members' faces was worth the fear of revealing himself so fully and publically. Merlin sat back down, smirking at the gleeful look on Geoffrey of Monmouth's face in particular, and poked Arthur in the ribs when the king began coughing to smother his laughter.

The laughter ended when Soleise rose to his feet and drew his sword, pointing it at Merlin. "Sire, you have been enchanted," he said. "You must have been for years. We should have suspected from your disregard for the Knight's Code in knighting the peasants and marrying a servant, but this flagrant denial of everything your father stood for—"

"How _dare_ you," the king said. He hadn't stood, raised his voice, or even looked at Soleise, but the threat was _burning _in the back of his throat, so potent that the lord very nearly dropped his sword. Arthur looked at him, his voice still quiet and intense. "Do you see my worthy father sitting before you, Lord Soleise?"

"N-no, sire."

"I am not my father, Lord Soleise. Do you mistake me for him?"

"No, s-sire."

"Do you think I disrespect my father's memory by doing this thing?"

"W-well, sire—"

"Do you deny then, Lord Soleise, that my father wanted anything less than what was best for Camelot?" Arthur asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"No, sire."

"Do you believe my desires are different than his?"

"Oh, n-no, sire—"

"I have been enchanted before," the king said, sitting up straighter in his chair in a lazy way that made the lord's blood run cold. "I remember what it feels like, but I don't remember what I said. I remember how others said that I acted and reacted. You were there when Lady Vivian and I were supposedly so besotted with each other. That was an enchantment. Do you see those symptoms on me here? Do you think I cannot recall my own words to you just now?"

The lord considered for a moment. "No, sire."

"Do you honestly think a man under an enchantment would be capable of such logical conversation or argument? I believe my Father told me my only excuse for running away with Lady Sophia after I was named Crown Prince were the repeated words '_we're in love,' _is that not right?"

"Well…yes, sire, but—"

"That, too, was an enchantment, though I did not know it until Lord Emrys told me last night." Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was too busy staring at him with what he now recognized as his Arthur's-doing-something-amazing expression. He shook his head and turned back to Soleise. "Well? Do you think me capable of reasoning such as this when under an enchantment?"

"No, sire, but—"

"Lord Emrys, is it possible to be so level-headed under an enchantment?"

Merlin looked surprised at being addressed, and had to shake his head and think about the question before answering. "No, sire, it is not possible."

"Now _sit, _Lord Soleise, and I don't want to hear you blaming my mental state for your _intolerance, cowardice, _and _hard heart _again. Is that understood?"

Soleise just nodded, sheathing his sword and sitting down. Arthur smiled congenially at the others. "I have _not_ been enchanted, and I am not _likely _to be, with the King of the Druids at my right hand, am I? This man is, indeed, now my Court Magician and a full member on this council, and will be addressed as Lord Emrys while he sits here with us. As for the Knight's Code, that's my _next _project." His grin rose into something wolfish. "I know myself, now, gentlemen, and I know my mind. Not you or anything else can stand in my way."

* * *

An hour later, the council dismissed for a short break and Merlin went to Arthur with a request. Merlin decided he couldn't stand the thought of revealing himself to all his friends at once—everyone in the same room, staring at him, the accusing eyes darkening as his dishonesty registered, friendly smiles turning into frowns of betrayal. Arthur told him he was being an idiot. "Of course the knights will accept you," he said, rolling his eyes and cuffing him on the back of the head. "You're _Merlin. _How could they _not _accept you?"

Merlin chuckled darkly. "I'm sure they will, but they'll be angry first."

"Angry at _what?_"

The warlock shrugged. "I don't know, but it's more probable than possible. After all, _you _were angry."

The king blushed at that statement, just a little. "…All right," he said in the end. "We'll play this your way. I don't think it's a very good idea, but if it's what you want."

Merlin nodded his thanks. "It is what I want. I'll go start now, if you don't mind."

"Now?" Arthur asked, a little surprised. "But we're still in session!"

The warlock grinned. "I think you're a hair's breadth away from getting them all to fold anyway. You don't need me, at least not right away. I'd rather get this done sooner than later. I want them hearing it from my own mouth, not from some street gossip saying Merlin's the king of magic or something."

Arthur nodded, but he didn't look too happy about it. "Fine, but I want to be able to call you back if I need you, all right?"

"No problem."

"Just don't fall asleep _Mer_lin." He punched Merlin's arm, grinning at the insulted look on his friend's face before dismissing him. Then he called council back into session.

They were only a quarter of the way through the laws, and eight of them had been changed again.

Dawn was four hours away.

* * *

"…And the regulations on magic will be supported and enforced by both the king, and the new Court Magician," Galahad finished, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking at each one of the three other men in turn. "That's basically what the gossip says, and they're right. Arthur's in council right now, arguing over…something. I couldn't quite hear."

"You do good work, Galahad," Gwaine said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Leon chuckled and shook his head. "Enforced by the Court Magician when he _finds _a Court Magician."

Galahad opened his mouth, but Elyan cut him off. "Who knows? Maybe it won't be so hard to find a good one as we think."

"Oh, yeah. It could be easy to find a powerful, capable, experienced sorcerer who not only _doesn't _hold a grudge on Camelot for the last thirty years of persecution; but is also completely, unfalteringly loyal to Camelot, wise enough to use his powers with good judgment, able to garner and hold the people's trust, knowledgeable enough to know how to reestablish magic in Camelot, bullheaded enough to fight with Arthur when he knows something's not working, and likable enough to have around on a daily basis," Leon said with a hollow laugh, plopping down on the nearest chair.

There was a short, resigned silence in which Galahad once again tried to speak and was interrupted. "Maybe Percival knows someone?" Tristan asked with a small shrug. "You all seem to think for sure he knows something about magic."

Gwaine tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I could write to Garis…"

"There's no need!" The squire finally said. "Arthur's already _got _a Court Magician!"

The others looked at him, blank and disbelieving. "Galahad, _where _would he get one of those in _Camelot?_" Tristan asked, crossing his arms. "Unless he pulled one of these new reveals randomly off the streets and handed him a funny hat—"

"Don't even say things like that," Leon said with a grimace. "I'm feeling sick enough already." He stood and began to pace. For the third time in ten minutes. This time it was more than Galahad who was concerned for his mental health. "I'm guessing it's Gaius," he said at last. "Gaius would be a good choice. He's loyal, trustworthy, knowledgeable, we already know him, and he used to practice magic before the purge."

Elyan was the first to start nodding. "Gaius makes sense."

"Yes," Galahad said with a sigh. "…But it's not Gaius."

"Are you sure?" Tristan asked. "You said those visions of yours weren't always accurate."

The boy just shook his head. "I didn't get it from a vision. I've always known who Arthur's Court Magician would be when he lifted the ban on magic."

Three mild exclamations of surprise were released at once as all of them whirled around to face the young squire. He heard three different versions of "Well, who is it?" one of which had that exact wording and another of which he would not repeat in mixed company, even though he didn't know what half of those words meant. In fact, Leon made it a point to give Gwaine a _hearty _wallop upside the head for his language, a thump that was clearly _meant _to hurt, and shot the knight an angry not-in-front-of-Galahad. He almost smiled at it—he'd seen several of those looks directed at Gwaine within the past month.

Galahad simply shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's not my place to say. I don't even think _I'm _supposed to know…I used to eavesdrop when Father and Mother and Lady Vivienne talked in private."

Tristan began to pace along with Leon at that. "The waiting is torture," he growled. "When is Arthur going to be finished, anyway?"

Something knocked on the window, and there was a small _pop_ before they could turn that way. Everyone jumped except Galahad. The squire simply walked to the window and opened it so the flash paper message wouldn't have to break the glass to get in. It floated down into his hand as he closed the window again.

"Is that for me?" Gwaine asked, recovering first.

Galahad shook his head. "No. I sent a message to Percival before I broke the news to Leon. This is for me." He broke the seal and opened the parchment.

Tristan raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "…You two have been _using magic? Before _the laws have been officially passed?"

"We don't have magic, Tristan, don't be stupid," Gwaine said. "Galahad bought a piece from a passing sorcerer and I got a big stack from a man I bought a drink for."

"Oh. So you just paid someone _else _to use magic before the laws were passed." Tristan nodded. "That makes it better."

"_Please," _Leon said, rubbing his arms. "I'm getting goosebumps. I think I _hate _this."

"Sorry, Leon. Still working on the good spell for you," Galahad said absently. "Percival's just leaving the border of Munsalvaesche. He and Gwen should be back in the citadel in just a few hours. And, Tristan, _he _enchanted his own paper, if you want to arrest him when he gets here."

The newer knight's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, Percival really _does _have magic?"

"No," everyone said at once, with a sort of groan that told him they'd answered this question quite often before.

At that moment, _Merlin _of all people walked into the room. The four men swarmed toward him.

"Merlin, _there _you are!"

"What's possessing Arthur to lift the ban on magic?"

"Merlin, what's going on?"

"Has the council finished up?"

"All right, all right," he called out over their voices. "_Please, _guys. I…I'll explain everything. I need to talk to you anyway, but…I'd prefer to do it one-on-one. Is that all right?"

The others looked at each other and shrugged. "…Which of us do you want first?" Galahad asked with a tiny wink. He knew very well he wouldn't be called forward at all.

Merlin hesitated, not meeting Gwaine or Leon's eyes. "…Elyan, I think," he said. "The room next door is empty. Hopefully this won't take long."

* * *

There was a long, long silence after Merlin had finished his brief explanation of his powers and positions. He spent it chewing on his bottom lip while Elyan leaned against the wall across the room, his hands at his sides, blinking repeatedly, as if trying to comprehend all that had been said. Merlin was reminded of the previous night, when he'd faced a blank-faced Arthur and waited for the passing of judgment. Elyan took a deep breath and the warlock found himself holding his own. "So you're saying you've been _helping _Camelot all this time? Because you're also the prophesied King Emrys, and Arthur's made you Court Magician?"

Merlin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

The dark-skinned knight shrugged. "All right. Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

The warlock blinked. "…Isn't that enough?"

"I guess. Are we finished here now?"

"…You're not…not…angry?" Merlin asked, leaning forward. "…You're not possessed again, are you?"

Elyan laughed and pushed out from the wall. "_No, _Merlin. I just don't much _care." _

"What? But…but it's _magic…_"

"Do you _want _me to be angry?" the knight asked with a raised eyebrow. Merlin shook his head, and Elyan sighed and walked toward him. "You forget I was raised in Cameliard, Merlin, where magic was of no consequence. Trying to get me riled about magic is like trying to get me upset at a particularly leafy tree, or something. I can't use it, so unless you start attacking people with it, I don't care. You're not likely to start attacking people, are you?"

"…Not unless they attack me first," Merlin said, a little warily. This was _not _what he had been expecting.

The knight rolled his eyes and ruffled his friend's hair. "It's actually a bit impressive, really. How long did you manage to keep this secret? Seven, eight years?"

"Almost nine now," he admitted with a guilty blush. "I guess that's all I wanted to tell you…"

Elyan hummed in response. "I suppose you don't want me telling the others?"

"I would rather them hear it directly from me." They left for the other men, Merlin feeling much better with that good reception under his belt.

* * *

The next time Arthur faced any kind of serious protest was when they came upon the section on battle magic. Perhaps with Camelot being attacked so many times, he should have expected it, but honestly he had thought this was the one section he would have no problems passing.

Lords Aaron and Vale, two brothers, had other ideas.

"Sire, this is ridiculous," Aaron said, gesturing toward the stack of documents. "You're actually going to _sanction _the use of _magic _in war? Do you _really _think destruction and death is a good thing to get magic involved in?"

"Yes, Lord Aaron, I do," Arthur said, massaging his temple. "In fact, it's the only thing that makes sense. We have been attacked by magic before. It's time we started fighting back."

Lord Vale shook his head. "We should not stoop to _their _level, sire. We have defeated magic without the use of magic before. What is to stop us now?"

The king sighed. "But we _haven't, _Lord Vale. Every one of our victories against magic has been because of the secret actions of Mer—Lord Emrys. We owe him our city. Think about it. If one man can defend against all of Camelot—"

"All of Camelot?" Vale said with a scoff. "He hasn't done a very good job, then, has he? Look at all of the damage we've suffered, all the lives we've lost."

Arthur closed his eyes and counted to three. "Because he was _one man, _working in _secret, _and the fact that you're sitting at the round table now says quite a bit about his success in defending our home, in my opinion. I'm asking one sorcerer to be included in every patrol and one sorcerer for every thirty men in a regular army. It's not like a whole division."

"If there were a whole division, it would be easier to control them," Aaron said thoughtfully.

"But all that power in one place isn't a good idea," Vale countered.

"And what do you suppose we do if a creature attacks that can only be killed by magic?" Arthur asked. "If all battle magic is banned, how are we supposed to take care of it?"

Aaron shrugged. "That's your Court Magician's job."

Frustration, exasperation, and anger turned somersaults in the king's stomach. Then, something Lord Vale said sank in and he got an idea. "…All right. You say you don't want offensive magic in Camelot and you say a lot of power in one place is a bad idea," he said, nodding. "I am willing to agree to that, but first I'll have to send a message. Tell Lord Garis to evacuate his region and banish all of his citizens."

That got their attention—overcrowded Westmorland paid generous taxes to Camelot, and to Vale and Aaron's provinces in particular. "…Why would we have to evacuate Westmorland, sire?" Lord Aaron asked cautiously.

The king leaned back, waving a nonchalant hand. "Because Westmorland is a powderkeg," he said. "It has been ever since it fell under my domain."

"What do you mean?" Lord Vale said.

"Most of the citizens of Westmorland were originally the citizens of Camelot," the king began, "who fled to Westmorland because it was one of the few places in Albion where magic was accepted. The country was full of magicians, of all talents, backgrounds, and moralities. When it fell to me, I put Lord Garis in charge for a reason."

Aaron and Vale looked at each other. "…And why is that, sire?" Aaron said.

Arthur smiled, choosing his words carefully. "Ah. I wasn't sure you were aware. I wanted…I wanted someone to govern the people who could understand them. I told Garis that Westmorland was part of Camelot now and Camelot's laws would stand, but he would be in complete control of the carrying out of those laws…and he has been rather open about his support of the magical community in the past five or six years…actually, he may not like the idea of evacuation. His people have come to love him so. They may opt to form an army and march on Camelot. What defense could Lord Emrys be against an _army of sorcerers? _Especially if battle magic is outlawed…"

The brothers went pale and gulped. "On second thought," Aaron said quickly. "Perhaps this is the smarter way to go."

* * *

Telling Tristan didn't go nearly as well as telling Elyan had.

"You mean to tell me," the new knight said, his nose mere inches away from Merlin's, "that Isolde could have _lived?_"

Merlin's eyes darkened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I couldn't have saved Isolde. She was gone by the time I got back."

"Oh, and you _had _to go after Morgana, did you?" the man asked, the pain raw and open on his face in a way it hadn't been since Isolde's death. It had been nearly two years now, after all—he'd been slowly getting over the death of his love. Now, with this new information, that old wound reopened and bled. "Her powers were _gone. _She wasn't a threat any longer. You could have stayed and helped us. She could have _lived." _

Merlin shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Tristan. It wouldn't have happened that way."

"And how can you know that? How can you be _sure?_"

"I just know. I think…I think yours and Isolde's fate was written long before you were born." He hesitated. "Your names have the same ring that Arthur's does, when you say them out loud."

"What does that mean?" he asked, distracted.

"You mean you can't hear it? _King Arthur Pendragon._" Chills ran down the warlock's spine. "I thought everyone could hear it. Like…an echo or something. _Tristan and Isolde_ is the same way."

Tristan back away and began pacing with his hands running through his hair. Sounds came out of his mouth, like a caged animal, as he walked.

Merlin grimaced. "Tristan, listen," he began, not liking where this was leading him but not seeing any way around it. "I have…connections with…with one foot on the other side."

"You _what?_"

"I have half-dead friends." He pursed his lips and rushed to continue. "I can't bring her back…but I may be able to help you both."

The knight looked at him like he'd sprouted wings. "…What do you mean?"

"I refuse to resort to necromancy…that's dark magic and I'll have none of it. But I am…familiar with the Lady of the Lake—"

"Galahad's Vivienne?"

"…Yes. Isolde died under circumstances that may have granted her a half-life as a vassal of Lady Vivienne, but there wasn't magic involved. Usually that's a problem, but we might be able finagle something. Lady Vivienne and I, that is. We may be able to work together to carry Isolde's soul into Avalon." He closed his eyes, aware of just how dangerous promises were. This could work, though. He could feel it in his bones. "It wouldn't be a half-life. She's too far gone for that. But we may be able to make her a specter or get her a position in court…the all-dead are welcome, too."

"…And…" the knight began, hope shining in his face. "…If I died, in service of Arthur…"

"You would have family in Avalon and a place assured," Merlin said, nodding. "I am sorry. It's the most I can do."

Tristan stared at him, unbelieving. Then he darted forward and kissed the warlock on both cheeks. "You're a _blessing, _Merlin," he said, "even if you are a bit of a coward. I'll _never _forget this. You promise you can do it?"

"I swear," he said with a nod. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure we can find her. You have my word, Tristan. I swear."

Tristan darted out the door and down the passageway that led to the outer wall. He needed space, to think, to process everything Merlin had told in him the last hour, to—

_Tristan and Isolde._ He shivered. It did sound fateful, didn't it?

* * *

Miles from the citadel, in the dark of the forests and a ceiling of sky, the druids camped for the night. They weren't entirely sure if they were in Camelot or not—there was so much of it now, it was hard to tell sometimes where one land stopped and another began—and for once, they didn't care all that much. It had been almost two years since young Arthur had welcomed them, and negotiations between them were not only peaceful, but friendly.

On this day, something was different.

Perhaps it was a wave of magic through the air, or perhaps just the turning of the world. Perhaps this day had been set long before its time, as the day of freedom, the birth of legend, the rebirth of magic. Whatever it was, at the moment that Arthur revealed Merlin's true name, the name had resonated throughout the camp as well. _Emrys, _they said, over and over, first in whispered tones, then louder. It was a wonder Merlin's ears weren't burning. "Emrys!" someone finally shouted. "Emrys has set us free! Magic is free!"

A cheer rose up, and an aching, relieved cry. "Free" was a wonderful word, perfect and expressive and no one could say it enough. The celebrations began; laughing, dancing, and rowdy examples of some of the more explosive spells the druids usually didn't dare utter for fear of being discovered. People were singing with both of their voices. Any non-magician within a mile would have been knocked flat by the cacophony of sound arising from the camp. Magic was _free. _

Finally someone got drunk and raised a glowing hand. "To the Bear-King of Camelot!" the man shouted, his words echoing over all. "May he raise up all of Albion beneath his mighty paws!"

"Emrys, the Falcon of Avalon!" someone else cried. "May his memory never die!"

It was not long before the cry was taken up by the rest of the company. The Falcon and the Bear, they sang. Artos and Emrys. The Warlock and the King. They had never been servant and master, not even from the beginning. Now, however, was the time of prophecies fulfilled and servants elevated and the Old Religion being restored. This was a new age—the Time of Dragons, the Age of the Bear. A glorious time to be alive.

So caught up where they in their revelries they did not notice one of their own slipping out into the darkness among the trees. He was called by a harsher voice than all he heard at camp—by a destiny of his own and prophecy of death. While the druids danced, the one who would destroy all happiness walked untested out into the night.

* * *

Leon's was the reveal Merlin was looking the least forward too, as Leon had been Camelot's man from the very beginning. A nobleman, though a younger son and without a title other than _sir, _Leon had not seen good magic in his travels, nor the miraculous and beautiful restoration of Munsalvaesche, and was a nobleman albeit a very minor one without a title other than _sir. _If anyone was prejudiced beyond saving, it was Sir Leon.

It was for that reason why the warlock was quite happy when Leon insisted on bringing Galahad with him, although the reasons for _that _were many. His squire duties were split among the knights of the Round Table, and today was Leon's turn—and no one _ever _left Galahad alone with Gwaine. Too many bad influences.

In fact, only Galahad's steady presence stopped Merlin from simply falling on his knees and begging for forgiveness while he told his story and Leon's face grew more and more exasperated. When he was finished, there was a long moment of silence.

Then something happened that no one was expected. The knight slapped Galahad upside the head.

Merlin flinched—that almost looked like it had hurt. "Uh…"

"You daft-headed thickskull," Leon said, with fond irritation, as Galahad rubbed his poor head. "All this time you've been running all over creation trying to find some way to show me an example of _good _magic, worrying yourself, wearing both of us out, and it never occurred to you to just tell me that the best of all of us was _born _with it?" He shook his head and cuffed the boy again. "Blithering _lackwit." _

"What?" Merlin asked, a little stunned.

"Sorry, I didn't really think of it," Galahad stammered, looking almost as surprised as Merlin was. "I mean, it wasn't really my place to say anything, but—"

"Oh, shut it, boy," the knight said with a smile. Then, he _laughed. _"Oh, you two. I've been near half out of my mind worrying about the return of magic and Arthur's Court Magician for almost two days now. This just takes care of everything!"

The warlock frowned. "…It does?"

Leon nodded. "Galahad, don't you remember what I said about the Court Magician? How hard it would be to find one?"

The boy slowly nodded. "An experienced, capable magician who…who didn't hold a grudge…"

"Loyal to a fault, wise enough to use good judgment," Leon went on while Merlin's ears turned pink.

"Trustworthy, someone who can be counted on—"

"And who can inspire others."

"Knowledgeable."

"Willing to fight for what is right and best for the country."

"Likable to have around all the time—"

"Did you say something about being accepted into the Table?" Galahad asked.

The knight laughed. "No, but that's a good idea, too—"

"All right!" Merlin cried, happier than he had been since Arthur had accepted him the day before. "All right, I get it!"

"You're _blushing, _Merlin," Leon said, laughing harder. "Come on, then. Show me some good magic. It'll make me feel better."

The warlock tilted his head. "Good magic? Like, honestly _good, _not just a trick?"

"Exactly. There's some naturally bad magic, isn't there?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then there must be some inherently good magic, too."

Merlin made a face like he'd just licked a lemon, which made Galahad grin. "You know, Arthur just asked for a trick."

"Do I look like Arthur to you?"

"…Most good magic is pretty big. How about some happy magic instead?" Without waiting for an answer he stepped toward his friend, touched each of Leon's temples with his pointer finger and muttered some words under his breath. When he stepped back, his eyes were glowing gold—and so was Leon. Glowing and _floating, _to be exact, and with a look of such _bliss _on his face that Merlin felt quite proud of himself.

Galahad was grinning, too. His eyes went blank, unfocused, and faintly gold for a minute before snapping back with a shake of the head. "That beats everything I tried. By the way, Percival and Guinevere are coming into the citadel. You want me to find them and bring them up to you?"

Merlin nodded. "Might as well get all this done at once." With another word, the spell on Leon was released and the knight landed gently on his feet.

He was panting and still a little shiny. "Merlin, that was…that was…I don't even know…_thank you._"

The warlock smirked. "Thank_ you. _And that's nothing. Be nice to me and I may let you take a ride on a _dragon." _

* * *

The sun was due to rise within an hour. Arthur had been awake for over a day. He was tired, hungry, frustrated, and wanted nothing more than to pass out in his bedchambers and wake up to find all this magic business taken care of.

Instead, he was here, in the council chambers, having a "discussion" on the trustworthiness of those who had magic. For the fourth time.

"I'm still not sure that this is a good idea," Lord Dain said again. Funny how it was the same two lords who kept bringing up the same issue. "Can we really trust people with magic, sire? After all your father did to purge magic from the land?"

Arthur sighed. "I have discovered within the last day that magic _cannot_, in fact, be purged from the land, Lord Dain, any more than we can stop grass from growing. So all of my father's work was in vain. He was a good man, but he made his share of mistakes. I am simply correcting them. As I have been telling you. For the last hour."

Lord Longtains, the other half of this protesting pair, shook his head and cleared his throat. "We understand all that. We're just not sure if we can believe it. What if a man with magic tries for knighthood and makes it?"

He failed to see the point. "…So?"

"So," Longtains continued. "What if his plan the whole time was to get close to you and kill you."

"If he had magic, he could have killed me any time he wanted, from a distance," Arthur said with a laugh. "And with sorcerers of my own working to up the security of the citadel and myself, I doubt he would even be successful there."

"It's not just that, sire," Dain said. "We're concerned about how much you're going to be depending on the ser—Lord Emrys."

The king raised his hand. "Lord Emrys is dependable, and my right hand, perhaps, but you seem to be forgetting I am my own person as well. I'll not allow any puppet monarchy in Camelo—in Albion."

Dain nodded. "That's not what we're worried about…Sire, no one will deny that at the moment Lord Emrys is a good and honorable man."

The rest of the council nodded in agreement. "In fact," Longtains said, picking up where Dain had paused. "We all like him. Most of the time, anyway. But if he is as powerful as you suggested—"

"Magic corrupts," Dain said. "If we learned nothing from your mother's death, it's that. Lord Emrys is a good man now, but what will he be in ten year's time?"

"A good man," said Arthur with a snort. "He was _born _with magic, Lord Dain, and he's never been corrupted by it before. Besides, magic isn't any more corruptive than a crown. Do you believe I will be a bad man in ten year's time?" The last statement was said quietly, as a challenge, though his face and eyes were nothing but friendly.

Dane and Longtains both gulped. "No, sire," Longtains said. "It's just…"

"Magic may _seem _to corrupt, but it doesn't. Not really. It's the thought of what magic _could be doing _if they only took advantage of it that makes magicians fall." Arthur took a deep breath, too exhausted to think up another manipulation, and leaned forward. "Look, we've practically finished with the news laws and ordinances. Is _this _your only other complaint?"

"Yes, sire," Dain said with a hesitant nod, looking to Longtains for a cue before speaking.

"Then rest easy. After all, Percival and Galahad are fine."

Every man seated went still and stared at him, shocked. "…Excuse me, sire," Dain said. "…Sir Percival and Squire Galahad? We knew the squire had visions, and he's a likable enough fellow, but—"

"Right, we never told anyone about Percival, did we? Galahad doesn't just have visions. He was raised on the fringes of the world, in a land literally born of magic. And Sir Percival…whose correct title at council should be _Master _Percival…is the Voice of Munsalvaesche."

The lords stared at him, blinking, and he sighed again. "Munsalvaesche is an enchanted land, and its king—or master in this case, since Percival gave the land to me—is a conduit for its magic. Master Percival serves me in the same capacity as Lord Gwaine does for the Orkneys..." He made a mental note to figure out of Gravain was less of a nuisance than G'reth and make him the Lord of either Old or New Orkney when he was old enough. It may cut down on Gwaine's drinking, and make the princes of Orkney feel less like they'd been shoved aside. "Percival, while within the borders of Munsalvaesche, is every bit of a magician, because he is the Fisher King's heir and the land's Master. Why do you think I sent _him _on the state visit with Queen Guinevere?"

"…And he is in no danger of being corrupted?" Longtains asked, eyes wide at the new information. "The land will not destroy him as it did the Fisher King?"

"Destroy _nothing. _The magic of Munsalvaesche kills whoever tries to use it for dark purposes. Now if there are no more reasonable protests, can we get this thing signed so I can get some sleep?"

* * *

"WHAT?" Gwaine yelled at Merlin, his eyes burning with betrayal. "You're a WHAT?"

Merlin flinched, beginning to feel rather panicky. Out of all his friends, he'd been the _least _afraid of Gwaine. Perhaps he should have reconsidered that. "Warlock," he croaked, then buzzed through all his titles for the second time, at top speed. "I didn't think you'd mind, seeing as Garis—"

"Mind? _Mind?_" the knight said. "I don't care _two bricks _about the magic, Merlin."

"Oh. Well that's good then, because—"

"_BUT WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT IT?_" He grabbed the nearest thing at hand—a chair—and threw it in Melrin's direction. The warlock dodged, feeling a little like he was telling Arthur all over again.

"Gwaine, could you just—"

"No, I couldn't! This is _me _we're talking about!" He threw another chair. "_Me, _who doesn't care about positions in society, who actively employed the use of magic on at least one known occasion, whose brother has openly supported magic for years!" The table was too heavy, so he grabbed the tablecloth.

"Gwaine—" Merlin started, ducking as the waded up cloth flew over his head.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again. "We're _friends, _Merlin. Or I thought we were. Mates."

He winced. _That _was deserving, but might have been a bit below the belt. "To be fair, I didn't tell _anyone._ Well," he paused. "Gaius and Lancelot knew, but I didn't tell them. They found out. Hey!"

The table suddenly _wasn't _too heavy any more. Merlin darted three fourths of the way across the room to avoid it, then found himself running from the table-leg wielding knight.

"What? Wasn't I _trustworthy _enough for you?" he asked through gritted teeth, swiping at the warlock.

"Yes, but I didn't want you getting drunk and spilling everything," Merlin argued.

"I told you I was nobility!"

"You're _royalty, _Gwaine, and you _never _told me that!"

"I would have, if I hadn't been trying to get away from the Orkneys!"

He darted toward Merlin again, swinging the lump of wood. Merlin's eyes flashed and it turned to water, soaking the angry knight. He sat heavily down on the floor, panting with exertion, glaring at the warlock with irritatingly prickly eyes.

Merlin, panting a few feet away, took a cautious step forward. "Please don't hate me, Gwaine," he asked, speaking low and fighting back the prickles behind his own eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I'll never forgive myself if you hate me. Can we still be friends?"

Gwaine blinked up at him, seeing the stark pain and fear on the warlock's face, and couldn't help but hate himself for it. Just a little. He looked down again and gave a playful, angry grunt. "…and to add insult to injury," he said, still sounding grumbly. "All these years I've been paying an arm and a leg and risking both to smuggle hair potions into Camelot when all the time I could have just had you whip them up as blackmail."

Merlin looked startled, and at that moment knew he was forgiven. "Very funny, Gwaine. When you started throwing things, I was afraid you were going to hit me."

"Why would I hit you?"

He shrugged. "Arthur hit me."

Something _erupted _behind his eyes. "Arthur did _WHAT?" _the knight screamed, standing tall and looking murderous.

"Gwaine, relax! I hit him back!"

The fire went out, replaced by a morbid curiosity. "You did? Really?"

"Really," Merlin said, raising an eyebrow. "And I used magic. We were both of us thoroughly pummeled. What, did you think I _wouldn't _fight back?"

Gwaine thought a moment, the image of scrawny Merlin beating up the king rising to the forefront of his mind. He threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

The same shift in the air that struck the druids also woke Aithusa right around dawn, much to Kilgharrah's dismay. The little White was bound to Albion more than the Red, so fragments of destiny attracted the baby much more than they did the Great Dragon. He woke with a start and an ecstatic cry before flying up to perch on the top of the mighty Red's head and look, upside down, into his guardian's sleeping eyes.

When that didn't wake the Red, Aithusa blew fire up his nose.

Kilgharrah woke with a furious snort, a jet of flame, and sneezing fit that shook the walls of their cave. "Ai—thu—sa-" he said, coughing and sneezing between syllables.

Aithusa gave a reptilian laugh. He'd never thought of it before, but watching the Great Dragon sneeze was _hilarious. _

"I really _am _going to kill you." He stretched out his wings and scratched at his burning (literally) nostrils. Fire breath was not what it was cracked up to be—itched like the devil on the way out, and was ten times worse on the way back in. He glared at the White as his eyes watered—yes, dragons could cry. "Just wait until you've got more fire in your belly than just that one little spurt. The first time you swallow a fireball, I am going to point my tail at you and _laugh." _

Aithusa just grinned, still too young to be able to form cogent words in any tongue.

"Well?" the Red said, officially in a bad mood. "What do you want? Or did you _have a reason at all _to wake me up at dawn by giving me one of the worst headaches in recent memory?"

The baby dragon cooed and sprang into the air, trying to act out what it was he had felt.

"…I do not understand, young menace," he said after several long minutes, giving up and trying to go back to sleep.

Aithusa bit down on his guardian's wing, earning a glare and an additional ten minutes of attention. He stretched out his wings as far as they would go, trying to point the tips straight down and stay aloft at the same time.

"…You want to go for a flight?" Kilgharrah tried.

Aithusa rose to the very top of the cave and dove straight to the ground, screeching as he did so.

"…You're hungry?"

The White shook his head and screeched again. He was imitating something, but Kilgharrah couldn't quite—"

"A falcon!" he said at last. "It's a falcon's call!"

Aithusa chirruped and nodded. Then he settled on the ground on his haunches, picked up his front paws (claws? Hands?) and waved them in the air, growling.

"A bear?" The Red guessed. The White nodded and leaned back, waiting for his guardian to put the pieces together. "A falcon and a bear…a bear and a falcon…a falcon…_a bear…_" His comprehension rose with the sun. "_The Falcon and the Bear! _Aithusa, has Arthur lifted the ban on magic?"

Satisfied, Aithusa nodded and growled.

Kilgharrah laughed and stretched out a claw, pulling the suddenly alarmed White close in what Merlin probably would have called a cuddle, had he been there. Which he was not. So it wasn't. "Oh, little one, do you know what this means?"

Smothered by the sudden proximity of his father-figure's scales, Aithusa could only roll his eyes.

* * *

When Merlin told Percival, the knight's only reaction was a blush. "…You knew, didn't you?" he asked, getting the sneaking suspicion that he'd been had.

"No," the knight said, then shook his head. "Yes. Well…maybe."

"Maybe?"

"A bit. But not really."

The warlock sighed and chuckled. "How much did Munsalvaesche tell you?"

Percival leaned against the magically repaired table and shrugged. "Not much. Not at first. It got worse as we were coming back just now. Whispers of someone called _Emrys _in my ear, a shaky image of you, holding some sort of water vial. You were there when King Anfortas died, weren't you?"

Merlin nodded. "I killed him."

"Neither he nor the land saw it that way. You released them both. I think he may be with Lancelot and his new queen. You freed him."

"He still died." Merlin _hated _it when people died.

He wandered closer and leaned against the table beside the knight. Percival sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "The 'king of the druids' bit surprised me," he said. "So did the 'dragonlord' thing. But the rest of the stuff? If anyone's lucky enough to be born with magic and stupid enough to use it in a place where it could get him killed, it's you. And you _would _use it to defend the same people who would see you dead. It's just who you are."

"I think all of you are overestimating my character," Merlin said, alarmed. "Everyone seems to think I'm too _good _to do anything bad."

Percival smiled. "I know. And I'm probably the only one who would believe you if you said otherwise." He nudged the warlock's shoulder. "You're not _perfect, _Merlin. None of us are. Well, except maybe Galahad, but he's our light."

"Your light?" Merlin tilted his head.

"If we went to Munsalvaesche, the dwarf would call him Purity. I know you've been wronged and done wrong—but you're not the only one of the Round Table who's been touched by darkness." His brow furrowed for a moment. "Galahad shines when we can't, just like Gwaine is our legs and holds us steady when we're close to falling, and Leon is our good name—difficult to be rid of and instantly recognizable as _Camelot's _and _Arthur's_."

"Put a lot of thought into this, have you?" the warlock asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Well," he said with a shrug. "That, and it's our destinies. Munsalvaesche has been whispering in my ear while I'm sleeping. I have the _strangest _dreams…" he shook his head as if to clear it. "Arthur's our hope. He can inspire and disappoint in equal measure, and we _have _to follow him, because what else is there to follow? Lancelot was our honor, the ideal we all looked up to…and maybe he still is. Gaius is our head, not because he knows so much, but because that's what he fights and defends with. _I _am our arms, to carry our burdens if need be. Elyan is our hands, broad, strong, used to hard labor, capable of both destruction and creation. Gwen is our fingers, deft, quick, and always ready to work toward good."

"Where does that leave me?"

The big knight smiled slightly. "You're our heart, Merlin. Unbreakable, but easily broken. Soft on the outside and hard within. That's why we think so highly of you. You're dark and light in equal measure, and perhaps a bit battered around the edges, but you don't let that define you. And how could we think of magic as evil when magic is what keeps our heart beating?"

He nudged Merlin's shoulder again as the speechless warlock stared at the floor, fighting back a blush. The warlock swallowed several times. "…I think that's more words than I've ever heard you say at once."

"I prefer thinking to speaking," Percival said. "Curiosity, you know. You're the first person I've ever told about…well…"

"Table destinies?" Merlin chuckled. "I can understand why. I won't tell anyone else, if you don't want me to."

"Of course not. If there's one thing you're good at, it's keeping secrets."

* * *

The people were growing restless. Westmorland may have been part of Camelot officially, but it was so far removed from the citadel—in more than distance—that when the stirring shift hit, they did not see it for what it was. They felt it, all right. The whole country was rocking with it. But no one could make out what it was _for. _

Except Garis, of course, who hadn't felt it at all. Gwaine's four-word message was practically burning a hole in his pocket. News traveled slowly, and even the gossip chain had escaped the small province's notice, but the people _felt something. _As much as they loved him, Garis feared a revolt or at the very least a panic in the streets if he let it go much longer. He'd wanted to wait for official confirmation before revealing their freedom, but he couldn't risk waiting for one anymore.

So instead of waiting, he left his private library in the northern corner of the half-castle and went to a place he usually tried to avoid: the training yard.

He got a wide collection of astonished looks and sent many wry smirks in return on his way. It was well-known throughout the province that Garis was the worst swordsman ever born, the second worst archer, and the fifth worse maceman…although perhaps the best dodger. His weapons were his abilities to communicate with _anyone _and to control without being controlling. His training grounds were his library and half-council chamber—rather than attempt to rebuild the west side of the castle after the dragons got through with it, Garis had opted to just wall up the ruined side, giving the castle a picturesque look from one angle and a lopsided, abrupt ending from the other. He knew with the dragons gone the castle would have been built with relative ease, but he wanted unrestricted access to the Cave of the Lake of a Thousand Tears if he needed it…and besides that, he _liked _having only half a castle. It was unique, and amusing to watch guests open doors into rooms that were much smaller than they were supposed to be.

However, Gravain was a fighter, and a pretty good one, to boot. He was not up to Camelot standards yet, but he _did _have a lot more training in fighting magical threats as well as non-magical. Although his youngest full brother was clever and could govern if he wanted, he was much happier with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. And it was Gravain that Garis needed to see just now.

He found him beating the tar out of some hedgemage knight in front of an audience who looked a bit too eager to watch the fight—Vortigern's old non-magical henchmen, most likely. It was an interesting fight. Any great advantage the knight's magic may have given him had been negated by the discombobulate feeling of the magical shift, and he was reduced to blocking like a non-magical fighter and half-heartedly tripping the ex-prince every once in a while. Garis watched the fight for a couple of minutes, wondering what the _point _of it all was, before walking onto the field and calling for the end of the match.

The spectators booed, but were cut short with a stern look from their lord. The hedgemage gave him a look of pure relief as he slunk off to nurse his bruises. Young Gravain removed his helmet and shook his sweaty head. "What's going on, Gary?" he asked, flipping his hair out of his eyes. He'd decided to grow out his hair like Gwaine after their father's death. He refused to magic-treat it, however, and with bright red hair, no beard, and those bigblue eyes, the length gave him a young, charming look rather than his oldest brother's "dashing rogue."

"I've had news from the citadel," Garis said. "The people have been antsy for the last several hours. This news will calm them."

"What's your point?"

"_You're _going to deliver the news."

"WHAT?" Gravain shouted, drawing the attention of the ex-henchmen.

Garis clapped his hand on his brother's shoulder and led him back toward the half-castle. "You need to take a more active role in the way Westmorland is run," he explained quietly as they walked. "Arthur's clever. He knows the Orkneys are too big for Gwaine to moderate on his own, and as soon as you're of age—which, might I remind you, is only three and a half years away—you'll probably be getting one of them."

"Why me? G'reth's older."

"Yes, but G'reth's an _idiot, _isn't he?" They walked into the castle and Garis led them up the stairs toward his personal rooms. "Mother and Father got their claws too far into him. Luckily, I managed to save you, though it was close there for a while—"

"You shouldn't talk about Mother and Father like that, Gary," the boy said with a frown.

Garis rolled his eyes. "…And sometimes I think it's _still _close. Just listen to me, Gravain. This will be a good experience for you, and Lady knows you'll need all the good experiences you can get. _Especially _if you're going to be lord of your own state soon."

"But I don't want—"

"You don't know the meaning of the words," he argued with a shiver. He _still _had nightmares about being king of Orkney. "You won't have to go it alone if you don't want to, but that doesn't mean you won't have responsibilities. _This _is easy. _This _is a simple proclamation quelling the fears of the population. It's not even made up. You'll be _fine._"

"…What is it I'm supposed to be proclaiming?"

"King Arthur Pendragon is lifting the ban on magic," Garis said, feeling the hair on his scalp stand up, partly at the name, partly in satisfaction. His brother's jaw dropped, and he reached out to close it for him.

"Really?" he asked as they entered Garis' sitting room.

The lord nodded. "Really. And if I've got my prophecies straight, he's the Once and Future King, and Emrys will be his advisor….Gravain, do you pay attention to lessons at _all_?" he asked, exasperated at the blank look in the boy's eye.

"Sometimes? Who's Emrys?"

"…Well…if my hunch is correct…it's Merlin."

Gravain looked unimpressed. "You mean that clumsy servant that follows Arthur around is Emrys?"

"I believe so."

"That's nice. Who's Emrys?"

* * *

But out of all of them, Arthur's included, the worst reveal of Merlin's magic was Gwen.

Gwen, who had been separated from her family because of Uther's purge.

Gwen, who had lost her father to the war on magic.

Gwen, who had been _such friends _with Morgana, and who had watched her fall.

Gwen, who was enchanted to kiss a dead man and lost _months _of a happy life because of it.

Gwen, who had been more hurt by magic _and _those against it than perhaps the rest of the Table combined.

When she backed away from him until she was pressed against a wall, it hurt Merlin more than Arthur breaking his ribs ever did. There was fear in her eyes, something he wasn't expecting. The betrayal, yes, but not the fear.

Perhaps that shouldn't have been the surprise it was.

Merlin repeated the entire story again, as fast as he possibly could. He didn't glaze over his own faults—the releasing of the Great Dragon, Uther's death, Morgana's poisoning, but he didn't skimp on his successes either. Anything to get the fear out of his first friend's eye.

"Gwen, _please," _he whispered, not daring to take even the smallest of steps toward her. "I was _born _with it, Gwen. I didn't _choose _this. I would _never _do anything to hurt you or Arthur."

She was crying, but it was silent, strong tears, and when she spoke her voice was steady. "…I know," she said. "I know, but…"

"But it's magic?"

She nodded. "…I never suspected…" She took several nervous steps forward. "The signs were there, I suppose, but I didn't want to see…I always thought the sword looked a bit familiar, but I didn't…"

"I know," Merlin said. He almost apologized, but Arthur's warning still rang through his ear. He was finished being sorry. "Is it the magic that bothers you or the deception?"

"Oh, I don't care about the deception!" she said, shaking her head, coming closer still. "You'd have been killed. I don't want to see you dead, Merlin…"

He closed his eyes, her words hurting almost as much as her fear. "…Then it's the magic."

She nodded, wiping the tears off her cheeks.

"…Gwen, I _am _magic. I'm a _creature _of magic, a _product _of it…it's a part of me."

"I know." She was close enough to touch now. She reached out and rested her hands lightly on his arms. "It's just…Merlin…I'm so…I'm so _afraid…for you._"

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes again. "Gwen—"

"No, I saw what…what _magic _can do to someone, no matter how good they are," she said, squeezing his arms. "I won't deny it can do great things, great and _wonderful _things…but at what cost? We can't lose you."

Merlin shook his head, and pulled her into a hug. "No, Gwen, I'm not going to let that happen to me, you understand? I'm almost twenty-three, and I've been using magic for that long, and nothing's happened yet."

"So you've never killed with it?" she asked, her voice dripping with scorn. "You've never done anything that might change you for the worse?"

He flinched, and she immediately apologized. "No, I deserve that," he said quickly, pulling her closer. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be. Not for me, and not of me."

She stiffened and pulled back, looking sharp—and _angry. _"Merlin _Emrys, _why on _earth _would I be afraid _of _you?"

He blinked, blushed, and began to stammer. "B-because I'm m-magic, and-d mag-gic is ev-vil?"

Gwen snorted. "I said nothing about magic being evil. It's _power, _Merlin, not _evil. _You're not _evil. _What a stupid thing to think."

"…But…But I thought you hated magic…"

She softened and shook her head. "I'm not like the rest of you. I've had no incredible, enchanting adventures. In my experience, magic brings only hardship and great pain." Her face darkened in memory and she repressed a shudder. "I'll try to understand, Merlin. I will. And I'll get over this, with time. The more good I see, the easier it will get. But I'll never stop being afraid for you. If we lost you…"

"Gwen, don't," Merlin began.

She held up a hand. "If we lost you, Arthur would _break_. Gwaine would leave for Westmorland and wouldn't look back. Gaius just might _die…_and I know I would never forgive myself." She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his chest. "You've got to be careful, Merlin. You've got to be careful and _promise _me you won't walk in Morgana's footsteps."

Merlin wrapped his arms around Gwen's shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I swear, Gwen. You'll never lose me. On Arthur's life and your goodness, you'll never lose me."

* * *

Neither Arthur nor Merlin were actually there when the couriers fled to their provinces and the heralds ran to the four corners of the city, all of them reading aloud from their own still-damp copies of the new magic laws. Merlin didn't hear the revisions for days after their passing, and Arthur didn't hear the celebrations in the citadel as the magicians, merchants, and peasants figured out just what all this meant to them.

Gwaine heard the laws, on his way back to the tavern. Leon heard them, dragging Galahad to the archery field—the boy hated crossbows. Galahad heard them many times over, reverberating through his head as he received one vision after another of the same speech being read—he was determined to have everything memorized.

Elyan half-heard them. There was a speaker near his forge, but he was more interested in repairing his armor. Percival heard them, barely, over the sounds of Munsalvaesche ticking off the number of prophecies fulfilled that day. Tristan heard them on his way to visit Isolde's grave.

Gwen heard them as she walked the streets, fighting to stop herself from jumping every time someone made a sparkler. Gaius heard them, grinning with pride and joy as he made his rounds. G'reth heard them, from the training fields, although he didn't really care.

Garis and Gravain didn't hear anything at all, and neither did anyone in Westmorland. The powderkeg had ignited in festivities, and no one could really hear anything for the next three days. Kilgharrah and Aithusa didn't hear anything either, but that's all right. The laws didn't really apply to dragons, and Merlin would give them his own laws later.

Messengers were dispatched to each individual druid camp the king had known a location for, and the druids were all in a whirl over the courtesy of the Once and Future King—plans were made to go to Camelot and pledge fealty immediately. The people of Munsalvaesche and Cameliard heard the laws, too, and witnesses said flowerbeds were spontaneously popping up all over the land. The laws even reached Astolat and Avalon, carried there by the water spirits and land nymphs and elves in hiding.

But the two who all the uproar was really about remained completely oblivious. While fate sang, destiny danced, and all the world looked toward the newborn Albion, the Once and Future King and Merlin the Magician slept.

* * *

At first she'd thought the white dragon was a goddess-send, then just a hallucination. After all, dragons had died out. Arthur had killed the last one, and it was one of many crimes against magic for which she was going to make him pay. But _something _had healed her, something that felt rough and raw and incredibly _bright. _If not the dragon, what else. She was happy in the beginning, but as time passed, she mostly wished she had just died. Morgana had spent the last year—almost two now—hanging onto life by the fringes. Not because she was injured. Her wounds had healed instantaneously. Because her mind, her heart, her _soul _had _changed. _

She'd felt so empty, so _numb _since Morgause's death. Not anymore. She _felt _things, things she'd forgotten she ever had felt. The way she felt when Uther smiled at her. The thrill of sparring with Arthur as children, when he'd been more of a brother to her than when she'd known they were kin. The serenity of Gwen's honest friendship as she arranged a vase of flowers on the table. Gaius' caring words and comforting hugs. The delight she'd felt when she saw Merlin's goofy ears leaning closer to pick up something Arthur had muttered during a dull feast. Her memories were dizzy, disconnected—she recalled the year she'd returned after Morgause had taught her everything she knew, and recognized with a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach that her "family" in Camelot _really had _loved her.

She wasn't the _old _Morgana, but she wasn't her most usual self, either. Memories of Morgause and the seductive call of dark magic and the terror of being discovered and the betrayal of being Uther's _daughter _and the wicked joy of manipulating Agravaine and the constant current of _minemineMINE_ still surfaced and flooded their way through her, but they were harder to hold onto. She was slipping, sometimes forwards, sometimes back. Often delirious, rarely realizing where she was, barely able to care for herself, in constant conflict with her own identity.

Did she love Arthur, or hate him? Was it nothing more than common jealousy that made her so determined to depose him? Was she proud to be a Pendragon, or did she despise her own last name? Once, she even asked herself what her mother would think if she saw her now. In her more lucid states, when the pain of being so divided was so great she could scream, she would curse the dragon for ever showing her whatever sort of pity it felt when it had seen her. It was a cruel beast if it thought _this _would help, and a cruel, laughing goddess she served if it was indeed she who had sent it. Morgana's heart was burning—the White had awakened her. Her tortured soul was pierced through by the light of the sun, forcing her into a mere shadow of herself, and it was killing her without giving her the release death would bestow.

It was one of the more difficult days, and she was lost to fit and fever, and didn't feel the tingling fingers of destiny breathing down her neck as the others so bound did. She didn't notice anything at all until the door to her hut opened and a pair of booted feet stepped across the threshold.

"H-hello?" Morgana called, still half out of her mind. "Gwen? Is that you?"

A handsome young man—more of a boy—with raven-red hair appeared before her eyes. The bluest eyes in all creation, framed in a round, fine face. "No, Morgana. It's me. Do you remember who I am?"

The voice was deeper, but her searching mind still recognized it. She sat up from her bed. "Mordred?" she asked, pulling the youth into a weak but heart-felt embrace.

"Yes," he said, and returned the hug, but his arms felt stiff and his skin was cold.

"You've gotten bigger," she said, almost accusingly.

"It's been six years since we last met," he answered.

"Has it?" Her nose wrinkled as she fought to remember.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and covered her hands with his big, icy fingers. "I've come to take care of you, Morgana."

She smiled. "You were always so good to me, Mordred."

"As you have to me," he said with a smile that was more like a sneer. "You were like a mother to me…or a big sister."

"I'd like to be your sister," she said, squeezing his hands.

The druid nodded. "That's good, because you're going to need me to get your revenge and take what is yours."

"Yes," she said, the old smirk appearing on her face as a wicked light flashed into her eyes. "We must take our revenge on Uther Pendragon and his blind hatred to anything different than he is."

"Uther is dead, Morgana."

She frowned, the fight fading from her face. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "…I am queen?" she asked, childlike, her eyes widening and growing moist.

Mordred shook his head. "No. Arthur the pretender sits on the throne that is yours by right."

"Oh." She leaned back. "And…that's a bad thing."

"Yes, it is."

"…But I love Arthur. He's my brother."

"I'm your brother now," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I'm going to help you, because everything will be harder now. Arthur has lifted the ban on magic and made Emrys his Court Magician."

She was already pale, but with that sentence she went absolutely colorless. "Emrys…I'm meant to fear him…"

"Yes, you are, and you're right to," Mordred said, his cold eyes flashing. "Don't worry. He can't defeat the two of us together."

Morgana smiled and leaned against her new brother's chest. "Together. Lovely Mordred. You were always so good to me."

"Go to sleep, Morgana." She closed her eyes and was out in instants. He dropped her back onto the bed without a second thought and examined the hovel. It would take work, the hard work of months, perhaps even years. And with Emrys in the open, he would have to move very, very carefully. Morgana was useful—she was still a high priestess of the triple goddess and the leader of the movement to restore the old ways. People listened to Morgana. They always had. But in the end, this was something Mordred would have to do on his own.

Prophecies, after all, weren't written about the good guys alone.

* * *

**The Kings of Longtains, Ireland (became Erin became Aaron), Vale, Denmark (became Dane became Dain), and Soleise were, according to Mallory, five kings who rebelled against Arthur's unification of England and were killed because of it. Also, to all you people who write stories where Merlin reveals himself and Arthur throws a well-deserved screaming hissy fit and Merlin just takes it? I love reading them and it's a beautiful story, but take it from someone who knows. If a stranger hits you, you turn the other cheek. If your _brother _hits you, _you hit him back. _  
**

**Hope you enjoyed this sequel to "The Secrets We Keep." Hope it satisfied all want of a reveal for a while, and I hope you're not tired of me yet! I need to do some rereading and get a some things in order before I pick another legend to write, so we'll see when the next one comes up. Meanwhile, Unto Albion will hopefully updated on Mondays, if you want to check that out...and I think that's all for me. Drop me a review if you loved it, hated it, didn't care, or have an idea/preference for a legend to Merlinize. Love you all!  
**

**THE END  
**


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